My Reading at the Carl-Schurz-Haus, or Handling an Attack of The FEAR

It’s been a few months since my book came out, and sometimes I forget what a big deal that is for me. A dream of mine for years, it sometimes seems like I just wrote it, published it and then went about my merry way. Like there was no struggle. And like there still isn’t a struggle.

My very own reading. To read out of a book I wrote and published. You would think I’d be singing this from the rooftops but that hasn’t been the case. I am suffering from yet another bout of artist fears.

This is no laughing matter. It stops some of the best work from ever reaching the canvas.

Anyone who thinks it it’s easy to be an artist, or it’s somehow less work than other industries, has no idea the mindfuck that is conceiving of an idea, creating it, looking at it with a critical eye, reworking it and then putting it out into the world for anyone to say whatever they like about it. Oh, and somehow, someway hoping to make a living off it. But I digress.

I’ve written about the fear of success before, but what I’m worried about these days are the critics. Lord knows why. I write with reckless abandon on this blog most of the time, but somehow this is different. It’s my baby I guess.

So here’s what I’m doing to combat this fear:

Writing about it and sharing it with people. It never fails to take some of the sting away when I tell others about what kind of madness is going on in my head. Hiding my feelings only serves to make them get bigger, uglier.